Butterflies in the Attic
by KillerElephants
Summary: Sequel to Velvet Paws, Moonlight Claws. Emma comes to terms with life in the Enchanted Forest, being a full time mother, and the Evil Queen that has apparently moved herself into her attic… Regina Mills, Emma Swan, Swan Queen.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N:_ Finally, the sequel to _Velvet Paws, Moonlight Claws_ is being written! I'm so glad people are showing an interest in reading this, as I'm really enjoying writing it. I'll try to keep updates coming weekly, but I have lots of writing to do for school, so bear with me if I start to slack a little.

I'm not sure about the rating just yet – do we want it higher? – and I'm literally taking this fic as my 'procrastination from school work' happy place, the quality isn't going to be amazing. I'll ask you all now to sit in the sun and maybe squint at your screen a little as your read it, thank you.

Your reviews/favourites/etc. mean so much to me, and keep me motivated to write even when I'm not really feeling it, so please take a moment to express what you like/don't like at the end of the chapters. I'm always open to ideas, but don't be surprised if I can't do a little something for all of them (I'm planning to stay two-three chapters ahead of what has already been posted and, of course, I have my plot already).

Disclaimer: I don't own Once/these character, and the title is inspired by V. C. Andrews' novel, _Flowers in the Attic_, though the contents of the stories, you will be glad to know, are quite dissimilar.

* * *

Butterflies in the Attic

Regina Mills has just about enough time to realise that she is awake before she is being dragged from the bed she had fallen asleep in, and pushed into a lavatory. Her eyes are bleary, and her body is cold, but when she opens her mouth in protest, a hand clamps over it to keep her quiet.

Emma's face appears next, her expression somewhere between glaring and incredulous, as she pushes Regina back against a cold, stone wall. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hisses, casting several quick glances towards the doorway.

Regina glares right back, but then suddenly realises where she is – and in whose body. She stares down at herself in alarm, seeing only the simple dress she had been wearing while she had transported her spirit into Tsuki's body, and tries to shake her head when she looks back up to Emma. The hand around her mouth is a little too hard, and she lifts her own hand to it, gently, to show Emma that she's just as concerned with keeping quiet as she is.

Slowly, Emma releases her, and then turns, pacing the room with a hand to her forehead, like she's hoping to wear a groove in the floor. She's dressed in her night shirt and a pair of knee-length linen shorts, and despite the cold that dusts her body with goosebumps, her state of dress is the last thing on her mind.

"Henry's going to wake up any minute," she's mumbling to herself, and Regina just stands and watches her, distraught. "He's going to wake up and come in here, and _you're_ going to be here." She spins around to face Regina, pointing a finger. "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't—" Regina tries, just a trifle too loudly, for Emma's eyes bulge insanely. "I didn't plan on it," she finishes in a hiss. "I did nothing differently; the spell was exactly the same."

"You know, the only reason I didn't tell anyone about you coming here was because I thought it was good that you saw Henry," Emma glared. "I thought, oh, she's not going to do anything stupid if _I'm letting her sneak in to see our son_. But it's never enough for you, is it? You always need more." She slaps a hand to her face, groaning quietly, and picks up her pacing again.

Regina steps after her, getting in her way when Emma next turns around to complete her figure-eight. "You think I planned this?" she hisses, just about refraining from slapping Emma in the arm when the other woman attempts to walk around her. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep," she adds, looking somewhat guilty. "But the spell I cast – my spirit should have just left the cat's body. Tsuki should still be here—"

Her face distorts somewhat, wondering, horrified, just what has happened to her little cat. During the time she's had her, Regina's become somewhat attached to her familiar, but now isn't the time to be worrying about that.

"Whatever happened," Emma says, stepping further into her, "you can't be here."

Regina sighs, momentarily closing her eyes. "I know. But what do you suggest? If I leave now, I'll be seen. Even if I could get back to the border, I wouldn't be able to cross it."

"Not while you're in your body," Emma realises, horrified, and then groans again.

They're both stopped from further argument when a noise sounds from the bedroom. The shuffling of blankets gives way to the sound of bare feet on tile, and then Henry's loud yawning. "Emma? My cat's gone again," he grumbles, and the sound of him checking the sheets filters in from the bedroom.

Before Regina can fathom that her son is on the other side of the wall, and she is not disguised in cat-form, Emma is shoving her towards the bathtub. There's a screen shade that Emma uses while bathing to hide the bath from the door and the toilet, should anyone walk in (there are no locks on these doors, and you can't be too careful, especially with Henry's habit of dropping in on her, unexpected). She pushes Regina into the tub with a stern look and pulls the shade further out so that it conceals her.

For her part, Regina crouches behind it and holds a hand to her mouth as Emma leaves her. Her heart is drumming away in her chest, and she closes her eyes, feeling dizzy, as she listens to Henry calling for Emma, again.

"Yeah, I'm just in here," Emma says, exiting the lavatory. She pushes a hand through her hair and tries to remember how to act normal, but when Henry goes to enter the room she'd just stashed his adoptive mother in, she can't stop herself from asking, "What are you doing?"

Henry turns to frown at her, not quite stopping. "Uh, peeing?" He pays little attention to the screen that hides the majority of the bath from view, or the way Emma seems to be lingering by the door once he's exited.

"Wash your hands," she says, after a beat, and moves to tidy the bed up a little. The cold is finally taking hold of her feet, and she ushers Henry out of the room with the pretence of wanting to dress. For her part, she does actually pull on a new pair of breeches and a tunic once he leaves.

"He's gone," she says, finally, poking her head into the lavatory to see Regina emerge from behind the screen. She looks disgruntled and fretful, but soon plasters a sneer on her face when she realises that Emma's watching her.

"What do you suppose we do now?"

"Woah, we?" Emma shakes her head, following Regina into the bedroom. "_I'm_ going to breakfast. You're gonna have to stay here."

"What a fantastic idea; I'll just hide out in your bathtub for the rest of my life, shall I?"

"I didn't force you to come here."

"And I didn't purposefully teleport my body to your bed."

"Yet here you are." Emma narrows her eyes. "It's awfully coincidental, isn't it? You turning up here, just after I find out what you've been doing."

Regina represses a sigh, but can't quite stop her eye roll. "Really? Because I'm benefiting from being trapped inside Snow White's goddamn Palace, _how_?"

Emma's frown deepens. She hadn't thought that far ahead. "Henry's here," she tries. "If you can get in, unharmed, you're probably thinking of doing the same, but with my son in your grip."

"_Our_ son, dear. And I don't know how I ended up here, unscathed." She releases a huff of air and turns around, studying the bed she'd woken up in. Perhaps it's a side effect of the spell she was using, or else something was different this time. But she's always so careful, she doesn't understand how she could have messed it up so brutally.

"Either way," Emma says, finally, "you can't stay here. If they know you're here—"

"I know," Regina glares, turning back around to face Emma. "But what do you want me to do? I can't teleport out of here, the wards around the Kingdom won't allow it. Whether you like it or not, I'm trapped in here with you. You're going to have to just live with it until I can find a solution."

# # # #

Emma's tense at breakfast, and all but Henry are starting to see it.

"…she was gone again this morning," he's saying, frowning into his oatmeal. "She only ever stays for one night, and then she disappears forever. Cats are weird."

"She's probably had to fend for herself all her life," David offers, buttering a slice of bread. "Animals like that, they're not used to being helped out. And when they become domesticated, they can't return to the wild again; they forget how to hunt, how to keep themselves alive. It's a big danger for them." Henry's face looks stricken at the idea of anything happening to Blacky, and so David quickly adds, "So it's a good thing, really, that she doesn't stay for too long."

"I guess," Henry mumbles, and leaves his spoon in the middle of his soggy breakfast in favour of grabbing a piece of fruit.

Eyeing her daughter over the rim of her glass, Snow sets the water down again and tilts her head towards Emma. "What are your plans for the day?"

Emma looks up quickly, and, if Snow hadn't been an elementary school teacher for twenty eight years, she might have missed the guilt that crosses her features. "What? Uh, I don't know. No plans." She bites into a piece of unbuttered bread, hoping to end the conversation.

Snow's eyes narrow. "Well, seeing as you're free, you can aid your father and I in the throne room, there are—"

"Actually, I was thinking of just sticking to my room for a bit. I mean, there are some books I want to get through, you know? History things, and stuff." Even Henry looks at her weirdly, and Emma dips her head.

She clears her throat, having swallowed what was in her mouth far too quickly to cut her mother off, and takes a sip of water. When she returns the glass to the table, Snow's hand covers hers. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm absolutely fine."

"Maybe she slept funny," Henry offers, smirking, while David pokes him in the ribs.

Emma's gaze flashes to him. "There was nothing funny about the way I slept. It was perfectly normal – _everything_ is perfectly normal." She's aware that she has all of their attention, now, and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Can I just eat breakfast in peace?"

No one answers her, but no one really refuses, falling into silence as they continue to eat. When Emma looks up, again, Snow's giving her one of those familiar looks – sadness and guilt – and Emma can just about keep herself from marching right on out of there before her mother starts rattling off her '_it will start to feel like home, just give it some time_' spiel.

She wets her lips and sighs, staring out towards the door. There are two guards stationed there, their backs to them, but Emma can see them past the door frame. Trying not to listen in. "I think I'm gonna start on that reading early," she says, turning back to the table, and fills her plate with a few more bread rolls and fruit before standing.

She manages a short, "have a good day," to the table, and leaves.

Staring after her, the trio quietly return to their breakfast. "She really misses it," Henry says, pushing his lips to one corner of his mouth and looking between his grandparents.

"She'll settle in," David offers, dropping his hand on the boy's shoulder. He jostles it until Henry manages a small smile, and tries not to notice how his grandson looks so fearful to admit that he might miss some aspects of Storybrooke, too.

* * *

Emma's still frowning by the time she returns to her bedroom. She sets the breakfast plate down on the table, but has little stomach for bread or fruit. Instead, she grabs her toothbrush – a real one, or as real as they get in the Fairytale Land, because she'd downright refused to chew on some sticks twice a day – and rinses it off before beginning to clean her mouth.

For a blissful few minutes after, while she's lying on her bed with her arms over her face, there's silence in her bedchamber. And then a disgruntled huff sounds from her right, and she moves her hands just in time to see Regina storming over. She grabs a bread roll from the plate on her way, and throws herself down to sit next to Emma.

"You could have told me it was you," she frowns, taking a bite out of the roll.

"Maybe I wanted some peace and quiet," Emma grumbles, covering her face again. After a moment's thought, she adds, "Someone might come up here, soon." Even though she severely doubts they will, after her little outburst at breakfast.

"What do you want me to do, get back in the bathtub?" The tone she uses suggests that Regina isn't going to do that. Emma groans and rolls away from her, onto her side. "This bread is stale."

"It's fresh. They wouldn't serve it if it wasn't."

"I have no butter, it's dry. You couldn't have brought a glass of water up here, as well?"

"Sorry, Regina, I didn't want to make it obvious that I had a fugitive hiding in my bathtub."

"I wouldn't exactly call myself a fugitive," Regina huffs. "And don't make this all about you; I'm the one trapped here, I'm the one who's going to be thrown in a cell if your precious parents discover I'm here."

"At least you'd get your own room. Want me to call them up now?" She doesn't look around to Regina, but feels the other woman's glare on the back of her head. "Besides, I'll get in trouble for keeping you here without saying anything, too."

Regina guffaws and rolls her eyes. "Yes, you'll be sent to your room to think about your decisions, and have supper brought up to your door. Terrifying."

Emma frowns and rolls onto her back, glaring up at Regina. "I could just hand you in, you know? You could be a little nicer to me."

Regina adopts a caring expression so suddenly, Emma has to remind her fluttering stomach that it isn't real. "Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to rub your feet? Exchange favours for letting me crouch in your bathtub for hours while you're away?"

Just like that, Emma is glaring again. "Get used to it; I've slept in worse places."

She pushes herself up and stalks towards the window, staring out at the barely-trampled snow. She remembers a time when the sight would have excited her, but it was quickly replaced by the fear of freezing to death, and that's the feeling that sticks with her now. If not for that, she'd probably consider throwing Regina out into the cold, just to see the indignation on the other woman's face.

"We'll figure this out," she says to the glass in her window, seeing it fog with her breath. "But you need to solve this." She turns around, seeing Regina staring dismally at the small roll in her hand. "Sooner or later, they'll find out, and I don't think I'm going to be able to stop them from doing anything drastic when they do."

They both know who the 'them' are, but Emma doesn't want to outright admit that her parents would probably think about murdering Regina as quickly as she has them.

"I'll do my best," Regina says, but her voice falters in a way that lets Emma know that she has no idea how she's going to get out of the Kingdom.

Not wanting to see that near-nervous expression on her face, Emma simply nods and goes to grab her cloak. Maybe a walk will make her feel better; she really doesn't like the cold, but suddenly craves the sound of fresh snow crunching beneath her boots.

"Eat your bread," she mutters to Regina, not quite catching her eye, before exiting the room.

* * *

I'd love, love, love to hear your thoughts on this. Does this piece feel too different to the last? (I think I'm just paranoid because I switched tenses.) Anyway, feedback is always greatly appreciated; I'll try to get back to everyone who leaves me a line.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N_: Hey, thank you so much for the awesome response to this fic so far! I wasn't expecting it, and it's just made me ridiculously happy. Loving the feedback; I hope a few questions are cleared up with this chapter, and that further ones are asked. This chapter picks up more or less where the last one left off. I hope you enjoy it, and let me know how it goes. :)

* * *

Emma treads out across the gardens, passing the bench that she can't sit on for the foot of snow that's fallen on top of it. It's almost brimming up past her boots, but she pays the cold little attention as she follows the trail that marks where Regina had come up to the Palace. Fresh snow has already fallen over it, and the trail seems to just disappear the further out she looks.

The landscape is bleak, and the shining sun overhead only makes it look bleaker. The snow glistens and hurts her eyes, and she turns away to head back up to the Palace. The turn brings her face to face with her approaching mother, however, and Emma contemplates pretending that she hasn't seen her. Snow's cloak is almost as pale as the ground, but when she pulls the hood back her dark hair flashes out, unmistakable.

Emma meets her halfway, giving a nod of her head in greeting. "What're you doing out here? I thought you had, uh, stuff to do in the throne room?"

Snow smiles and looks beyond her, to the tracks that she's tread through the snow. "I've left your father attending to matters." Her cool blue eyes slide across to Emma, and pale lips indulge in a smile. "The dwarves predict more snow to come. The villagers can't grow a thing; we're arranging methods to support them."

Emma turns into her with a frown. "The dwarves can predict the weather?"

Snow's own brow crinkles. "I think they heard it from a fairy or sprite." Her lips twitch, and she gives a faint shrug. "Either way, I wouldn't doubt it." She looks up to the sky, and Emma follows her gaze, watching as the sun is slowly covered by a layer of overlapping clouds. It looks like the soft, woollen blanket that Emma had been wrapped in at birth, obscuring the light. Sighing, she rubs her hands down her arms and tries to ignore the cold.

"It's been over half a year already," Snow says, then, and Emma turns to her in surprise. "Hard to believe, isn't it? That a few months ago, we were in an entirely different world."

Emma nods her head, but it isn't hard to believe in Storybrooke, not really. She thinks of playing darts at the Station, and running her Bug into the town sign, and sitting in Regina's office drinking cider, and feels the ache of longing take a grip of her chest. Snow's eyes are on her, but she keeps her gaze focused out on the distant forest, from which this land is named. It truly does look Enchanted, with tree tops rising up like great, white shards of ice.

"Anything, Emma, if there's anything that I can do to make it easier." Snow places a gloved hand over her arm and gently squeezes, but Emma can't meet her gaze. "We just want you happy."

"I know." Emma shrugs and turns back to the Palace, trying to find her room among the many windows facing the gardens.

"What will help?" Snow's voice lightens as she suggests, "We'll throw you a party, invite Red and Granny and Pinocchio." Emma's eyes briefly flit to her, and there's a strained look there that lets Snow know just what she thinks of that idea. "Not a party, then." But Emma's eyes have already found something in the distance, and she's frowning again. "Emma?"

Turning quickly to her mother, Emma shakes her head and says, "It's fine, I'm sorry. I'm fine." She takes a step towards the Palace, and then remembers Snow. "I'm getting cold, I'm going inside."

Snow is left staring after her, hands clasped together and a look of quiet longing on her face. She doesn't know how to help her daughter. Surely, she'd answered her little girl's dreams. Didn't every neglected child pray to be taken away from their life and made a Princess, or the like? But Emma isn't most children, Emma isn't even a child at all, and Snow just doesn't know what to do to assuage her adult daughter's pain.

# # # #

Regina jumps when the door to Emma's bedchamber bursts open, and she takes a cautionary step away from the window, before Emma herself is striding towards her and taking her by the arm. "Are you serious?" she groans, pulling Regina away from the window. For all her nervous energy, however, her touch is brief and almost gentle, and so Regina doesn't pull away from it at first. "I could see you from the garden!"

Regina rolls her eyes and yanks her arm out of Emma's grasp. "I wasn't aware you were checking up on me." Emma narrows her eyes at her, and Regina adopts a bored expression. "You can't keep me in here. Henry's been by twice already—_don't worry_, he didn't see me." She sighs and glances away, hoping that Emma can't tell just how hard it was for her to keep herself hidden in the bathroom, when Henry was just a few meters away.

"He can't know you're here," Emma says. "You know what he's like, he can't keep a secret for longer than twenty seconds."

Regina clicks her tongue and turns away, back towards the window. "I'm not an idiot." It's not Emma's warning that keeps her longing at bay, however; she wouldn't care if Snow and David found out, not if Henry looked at her for just a second with any real pleasure at seeing her in his eyes. It's the idea of his rejection that she can't stand, and she's so familiar with the reaction that it only seems inevitable.

Emma shrugs out of her cloak and hangs it over a chair. She hadn't bothered to bang the snow off her boots properly, and there are already small puddles forming across her floor. She supposes someone will clean that up for her, and then wonders when she got so damn lazy. Finally, she turns back to Regina, who's careful enough, at least, to keep her distance from the window.

"Okay, you can't stay in here." When Regina turns to her, eyebrow raised, she continues, "Like you said, it's too dangerous; Henry's always coming by here, and when he's not there are people – the staff, whatever – who come to clean up. Sooner or later, you're going to be seen."

Regina sets her jaw, but nods in agreement. "What do you suggest?"

"There are rooms upstairs that no one uses—"

"You want me in the attic?" Regina practically screeches, and Emma sends her a look that begs her to be quiet. "You do understand that that's where you keep the help, don't you, dear?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "Only, like, half of the rooms are filled – there are some real big ones up there, too, completely out of the way. I mean, they're a little dusty, but it's better than a bathtub, right?" Regina doesn't look close to agreeing. "Look, you can either stay here and _magic_ yourself invisible every time you hear a creak outside the door, or you can stay up there, out of the way, and not have to worry about being seen."

Regina's mouth flaps, not wanting to see the logic to the solution. "And what about food?"

"I'll bring it up to you."

"Every meal?"

Emma sighs. "I'll do my best." She shrugs her shoulders and sucks the saliva from her teeth. "It's the best I got, okay? But you're less likely to be found out up there, than you are down here."

Regina sighs in a way that says she's most likely going to regret this, and slowly nods her head. "And just how do you suppose I get to these big, empty rooms without being seen?"

# # # #

"I hate you."

Emma rolls her eyes, peering outside of her door. As she'd suspected, the guards are in the process of a switch-over, and the usual posts at the ends of the corridor have been momentarily deserted. "Yeah, yeah, come over here." She pushes the door further open and steps out into the hall, turning back to see Regina, disgruntled and donning one of the Palace maid's outfits, exit her room.

"If you tell anybody about this," Regina begins, but her glare is threat enough. Emma just holds her hands up in surrender, and then motions towards a set of stairs, barely concealed in the wall.

"We'll go up those ones."

"Those are the servants' stairs."

"Don't worry." Emma reaches out to take her by the hand, both to calm her down and to get her moving, because the longer they linger here, the sooner a guard's going to appear and see them. "They don't tend to use these ones that often."

Regina tries to will the colour from her cheeks as Emma leads her along to the staircase, but can't quite stop herself from staring at their hands, bemused. She follows Emma up, saying nothing, and holds her breath once they reach the top. Emma's hand is perhaps a little delayed when it leaves her own, but if either of them notice that, they say nothing. The corridor they're in is narrow and dimly lit, but Emma seems to know her way around. Regina tries not to wonder just how Emma seems to know exactly where she's going, or why she happens to have one of her maid's outfits in her bedchamber, and steps out after her.

Emma must see the look on her face, because she rolls her eyes a moment later and hisses, "It's for me, I'm not sleeping with a maid." Regina simply raises an eyebrow, and Emma isn't entirely sure she believes her. Cheeks reddened, she turns away and begins leading Regina down to a separate corridor. There's a lock on the door at the end of it, but Emma has already managed to jostle it open in the past, and now it swings freely when she pulls down on the handle.

"Grab a candle, please?" she asks over her shoulder, and is only aware that Regina's so once a bobbing light appears from behind her. "You can have any of these rooms, but I think there's some damp up here. I'm guessing that's why this corridor got closed off, anyway."

Regina closes the door behind her and glances around with a sigh. She's on the uppermost floor of the Palace, and the place looks like it's been undisturbed for decades. When she thinks about it, though, that's probably right. One window at the end of the corridor boasts a faint, cobwebbed light, and the weak glow of her candle allows her to see all the rest. There are six doors altogether, and Regina picks the one at the farthest end, to the right.

When she tries the door, it's locked, and she turns to Emma with an arched eyebrow, as though it's her fault that they've been stopped so easily. Emma just rolls her eyes and nudges her out of the way. When she gives the door a hard kick, it bursts open, and Regina is left looking at her distastefully.

"You're quite the brute, for a princess," she mumbles, and follows Emma into the bedchamber, offering the light.

Emma ignores her, moving towards the window. She can see out into the East-facing gardens from here, and can only imagine what this room would look like, bathed in morning light. If Regina cleaned the grime off the window, it'd offer quite the view, she muses, turning around. "It's not that bad, right? I mean, better than a bathtub." There's no damp, she wants to add, but honestly can't be sure.

Regina sets the candle down on a dresser, turning her nose up at the layer of dust that covers – well, everything. Her legs start to itch at the thought of sitting on the bed that occupies the centre of one wall, and she feels her stomach tremble at how even the coolness of the wooden boards beneath her feet is dimmed slightly by the grime between them and the soles of her modest slippers.

The walls are covered in aged paper that once could have been a brilliant magnolia. The ceiling is low, and the one solitary window does its best to light the room. All furniture here is dark wood, once varnished, well-kept. Regina snickers at that, because of course the Charmings try to take care of their staff, too. She'd have probably paid a pretty penny for a room of this size back in that old world, but here Regina struggles to see the benefits of it. The more space, the more dusting she'll have to do.

Aside from the bed, there's a double-doored wardrobe, a dresser that holds an adjustable mirror, almost intact, and a door set into one corner of the room that Regina supposes leads to a bathroom. There are end tables on either side of the bed, and candles settled around the room, with nets of wax dripping from them, giving Regina the impression of having just stepped into a painting. Overall, she supposes, it's better than a dank cell.

"It will do," she nods, looking about the room.

"I'll bring up some fresh bedding and stuff, and if you dust then, I mean, it'll look better. It's bigger than that little cottage you had." Regina glares at her, and so Emma shuts up, taking a different approach. "About bathing, uh, you're welcome to use my room. I mean, I can bring just about anything up here, but repeated trips with a bucket of water might start to look a little suspicious."

"Thank you, I'll deal with that myself."

Emma frowns at her. "How?" Regina snaps her fingers, and, just like that, every candle in the room is brought to the flame. "Oh. Right. Well, I guess you're all sorted, then…?"

Regina moves across the room, no doubt to inspect the small bathroom that leads just off the bedchamber. "Yes, that will be all."

Feeling thoroughly dismissed, Emma heaves a sigh and steps back, away from the window. "Bye, then. Oh, and, I'm getting pretty good at sneaking around without it, so you can keep the, uh, the outfit..."

"You're enjoying seeing me in this?" Regina pauses in the doorway, turning to Emma with a raise of her eyebrow that makes Emma's cheeks flush bright red.

"What? Uh, I mean – in case we need to move around again, or if you want to come down to my room. To talk, or. Bathe, if you change your mind." She shakes her head, hating that Regina can so easily fluster her. "I'm, uh—" She gestures towards the door, and Regina slowly nods her head. Even dressed in a maid's outfit, she has enough influence over Emma to direct her from the room.

"I'll be up with bedding and stuff later," Emma says, taking the candle Regina had left on the dresser and opening the door. She casts a look towards the other woman, but Regina's already entered the bathroom, and so Emma leaves as soundlessly as she can.

# # # #

When she returns to her bedchamber, Henry's there, looking at her oddly. She stops in her doorway, hesitating for perhaps a second too long to pretend that nothing's wrong, and then closes the door behind her when she enters. She doesn't miss the curious look he sends the room, or the empty plate that now sits on her table. Probably, he's wondering how she managed to eat all of those rolls and the fruit by herself, but then Regina had only nibbled at what she'd offered her…

Making a mental note to bring more food up to the other woman, she adjusts her breeches around her thighs and takes a seat on her freshly made bed. "Everything okay?"

Henry nods, but frowns. "Smells… different in here." He doesn't notice the way Emma's expression freezes, or the subtle sniff she gives the air. By the time his gaze returns to her, having just searched the room, she's already adopted a carefree pose. "Are you okay?"

Emma smiles and nods, motioning him over. She slides her arm around his shoulders once he takes a seat beside her, and squeezes him to her. "Yeah, I'm good. It's just this cold weather."

"You hate the cold," Henry agrees, bumping her with his shoulder.

"Right. Hate it."

Henry sighs and looks up at her, expression somewhere between curious and hopeless. "It's not so bad here, is it?"

Emma turns the question over in her mind, but shakes her head. "No, it could be worse."

Henry nods his agreement. "It's good, isn't it, that Grandma and Gramps are helping out with the villagers? I mean, so they have enough food and stuff in winter."

"Yeah, it's great, kid."

"That's what Queens are supposed to do, isn't it? Take care of all of her subjects."

Emma frowns, but nods, wondering where he's going with this. "She does a good job of it. No one's going hungry in the village, I promise."

Turning away from her, Henry picks at his thumbnail and chews his lip for a moment. His shoulders hunch against the arm that Emma has around them, and so she carefully drops it, rubbing her palm in circles against his back, instead.

"Do you think all Queens and Kings are like them?" Henry asks in a small voice.

Emma shrugs, but doesn't necessarily want to show Henry just how brutal this world can be. If it's anything like Ye Olden Days back in that old world, it's not pretty. "It's their job to be," she says, instead, and Henry nods glumly, not bought for a second.

"_She's_ not part of any proper Kingdom, though, is she?"

It's said so quietly that Emma has to strain to hear him, but then she doesn't have to ask him just who he's talking about, once she does. Her hand stops rubbing, and instead moves to settle on the bed behind him, keeping her arm around his back. "No, she's not." Henry looks up at her fiercely, and she wonders if he'd wanted her to lie. "But she's tough, you know? I mean, she's strong. She knows how to take care of herself; she won't let a little snow get to her."

Henry watches her, waiting for the lie to register, and only blinks when it doesn't. "You think she's okay."

Emma shrugs, and answers, even though it was never a question, "Yeah, I don't think she's in any danger."

That's all Henry really wants to hear, and he looks away again, taking a deep breath. "She's probably getting on fine," he says, after a moment. "Starting a new life, too. She probably has new friends, or… maybe not."

Emma understands what he's doing; if Regina is moving on, and not missing him, it's almost enough to get over her, because the sheer _injustice_ of not being able to see his own mother is unbearable. He's not the one who needs punishing, he didn't cast the curse, and yet he's been suffering just as greatly as Regina has with this separation (Emma isn't sure which one of them hides it better).

For a brief moment, Emma thinks she could actually hate her parents for doing this to him, but knowing just how close Regina is, it's hard to make the emotion stick. Instead, she just feels guilty for seeing his mom without him. And does that make her just as bad as her parents?

"I bet she misses you." Henry looks up at her once she's said it, and she has to force back her tears at the hopeful look on his face.

"I miss her, too," he whispers, giving in to the impulse to cry.

Emma only hugs him tighter, muttering into his hair and pressing kisses atop his head, like that's going to make any difference. And perhaps it does. She rocks Henry's body with her own and closes her eyes, trying not to dwell on the sudden impulse to mimic his admission.

* * *

_A/N_: As always, I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N_: Thanks again for the wonderful response, guys, it's really appreciated! I feel like I'm really getting into the meat of this story, with the parts that I've started writing; I can't wait to get them up here. As always, if you have any inquiries, feel free to get in touch. I'm always happy to talk. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

Regina's sat reading when the knock comes through; three sharp knocks just above eye-level, and then two slower knocks around chest-level. As if anyone else would come calling here, she thinks, and just about refrains from rolling her eyes as Emma lets herself in, deeming Regina's answer too long.

"Are you decent?" Regina hears, before Emma appears in the doorway, narrowing her eyes just in case. "Oh, right." She looks only mildly annoyed that Regina was doing nothing important enough to keep her from answering, and closes the door behind her. "So, I brought what you asked for. Is that…?" She nods toward the book in Regina's hands, while setting down the four large volumes in her arms onto the table. Regina had taken that particular piece of furniture from one of the other rooms, she suspects; it's the same dark, varnished wood as the rest of the room, and fits in perfectly.

Regina stands, then, setting her own book aside. "I found it here; it's barely readable." She starts unstacking the books, and Emma moves out of the way to watch as she lines them all down on the table. There's a tense pause once Regina's finished, and then she turns her eyes to Emma. "What's this?"

"That's all I could get."

"Let me guess, you're already over-drawn on your library card?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "I didn't want to look suspicious, and you know how they are with magic. If they think I'm suddenly getting interested in the dark stuff—"

"Frankly, I'm surprised there's more to your library than Mills and Boon. But this," she brushes a hand over the spine of one, fingers pressing the inscription of its title, "it's not my kind of magic."

"I thought magic was just magic." Emma lets out a defeated sigh and pouts at Regina. "These were the best ones I could find, the others were all about flowers and trees and shit." She bites her bottom lip and narrows her eyes. "They're useless?"

Regina catches the pout, and tries not to stare. "Not entirely." She turns back to the books, frowning, and opens one of them up. "There's bound to be something on the spell I used with Tsuki, but…" She stops short and shakes her head, flicking absently through the pages. Emma can't say that she looks very hopeful, and feels her stomach knot.

"But what?"

"I don't think it was the spell I used that brought me here."

Emma frowns at her for a solid few seconds. "How the hell else do you explain your being in my bed, then?" Regina levels her with a pointed stare. "You were using magic that's too big for you, and you fucked it up, admit it."

"_Too big_ for me?" Regina's lips peel into a sharp grin, but Emma sights no joy in the expression, just an outraged kind of amusement. "Need I remind you that I transported an entire _Kingdom_ to an entirely new world, _dear_, or had you forgotten?"

"Huh, please. That wasn't your curse, it was Rumpel's."

"Oh, he gets the recognition for it _now_?"

Emma throws her palms up, admitting defeat. "Whatever, can you use these or not? Because Snow's looking pretty distraught that I'm even looking at these things."

The irritation on Regina's face dims only slightly. "I bet." She turns back to the books with a sigh. "They'll do for now, I suppose."

"And if you find nothing?"

Regina lifts her gaze to meet Emma's, and they share a look that's equal parts hope as it is fear.

"I'll deal with it."

"Cross that bridge when it arrives," Emma agrees, nodding, and finally takes in the room around her.

She'd brought blankets and bed sheets up the first night Regina had stowed herself away up here – even helped her beat the dust out of the old mattress – but a lot more has been done since then. The great window overlooking the east-facing gardens has been cleaned, and boasts what's left of the afternoon light, and the floor beneath Emma's boots has definitely been swept once or twice.

The layer of dust that had settled over the room has been lifted, and despite the Winter chill, the window has been opened wide, inviting in fresh air. It's a quiet room, and now that morning has passed, it's not the brightest corner of the Palace, but it no longer smells like past lives and buried secrets.

Emma steps up to the window and looks out, being careful not to be seen. She wonders if anyone even thinks about this place up here; surely not Snow or David, who don't have to worry about these few empty rooms, and she doubts the majority of the guards know that they even exist. Henry, too, wouldn't even think to come up here.

"Are you getting hungry?" Emma asks, stepping back from the window. She helps herself into the armchair that Regina had been sitting in when she'd arrived, and pitches one leg across the other, ankle-to-knee. "I was going to bring some more food up for you, but, you know, books."

Regina slips into one of the chairs at the table and turns a page in the book she's poring over. "I'm fine." After a moment, she adds, "Bring something after your dinner, something that I can preferably heat myself."

Emma nods her head and shifts her gaze to the fireplace. She'd initially been worried about Regina lighting it, but figures that this Palace has enough chimneys sputtering out smoke; her parents can't possibly correlate each one to a room. She takes a moment, watching the way Regina tucks her hair behind her ear as she bends further over the book, and then asks, "You cooked a lot in that cottage of yours?"

Regina doesn't lift her gaze, but it doesn't look like she's paying much attention to the words on the page. "Of course; I lived alone."

Emma nods slowly. "Did you get much food out there? I mean, I don't much see you as either the hunter type, or the vegan type."

Regina rolls her eyes and sits back, surrendering herself to the conversation. "I caught what little meat I needed, and harvested my own fruits and vegetables." Emma looks slightly doubtful, so she adds, "I could disguise myself, too, and visit the out-of-town markets. There are farmers, not so far away, who grow enough vegetables to sell some on the side."

"That's good," Emma says, wagging her foot. "And your cat?"

Regina's lips purse. "She came to me. She must have smelled my cooking, or seen the light."

"And you just took her in?" Emma asks. She can't imagine Regina being the kind of person who takes in any and all stray animals that happen to wander onto her land, sniffing for scraps. Then again, she realises, she doesn't know Regina all that well, but Henry had already said how she'd never let him have a cat before.

"She had her uses, unless you've forgotten…"

"You were planning to possess her as soon as you saw her?"

Regina narrows her eyes and then turns away, back to the book. "That came afterwards."

Emma accepts that and licks her lips. "So… where do you think she is now?"

Regina doesn't answer her right away, but when she does, her voice is hard. Emma has to wonder if she's just making it come out that way on purpose, to make her think that she doesn't care. "Look outside, Ms. Swan. I'd imagine even the villagers are struggling with their food supplies in this snow, and Tsuki's already partly domesticated."

Emma swallows and looks away. "Yeah… probably best not to tell Henry that."

Regina glances at her out of the corner of her eyes, but her lips remain pressed in a tight line. Emma wonders how long it'll be until she cracks and starts asking after Henry, but so far she's going strong – and by 'strong,' she means the way Regina's entire body seems to hunch against the sound of his name, like a cat's hackles rising at hearing some sudden and terrifying howl.

# # # #

"Okay, you can open your eyes now."

When Emma does, it's to the sight of Henry kneeling before her with pieces of charcoal on a small towel, along with a bowl of clean water, in front of her. He's got her sitting cross legged in front of the lit fire, and has been preparing this 'surprise' for all of thirty seconds while she'd let the open flames warm her.

Emma tilts her head to one side, taking in the charcoal and water, and frowns a little. "Uh…"

Henry rolls his eyes. "I have more, see," he says, pulling out a clear glass bottle that's filled with yellow-ish water and browning flower petals. "And I got these from Grandma." Finally, he pulls two small lipglosses from his pockets, and Emma's eyes widen. Oh, Snow had been hiding them well…

"Where'd you get all this?" she asks. "And why?" Her eyes narrow in suspicion, and rightly so, too, if Henry's mischievous smile is anything to go by.

"It's make-up," he says, like it's obvious. "You don't have any here, but Grandma had those on her when we got transported, and she said that the charcoal can be used on your eyes for… something."

Emma nods her head, smirking at his blackened palms, and takes one of the lipglosses into her hand. It's half-empty (Snow had no doubt been saving them for special occasions), and is a shade of pink that's lighter than what Emma would usually wear, but lipgloss is lipgloss, and she hasn't been near the stuff in half a year.

"You got all of this for me?" She grins and applies the lipgloss, rubbing her lips together, while Henry nods.

"Do you like it?" His eyes crinkle in a way that makes her stomach give a little flop, and Emma nods her head, grin remaining. "I don't know what you're supposed to do with this," he says, taking a piece of charcoal into his hand. "But it'll probably hurt a lot if you get it in your eye."

"It's for around the edges," Emma says. "I think. Here, let me show you."

Henry hands the charcoal over, and Emma tells him to close his eyes. Carefully, she draws a line along the top of his upper row of lashes, blending it in to give a weak smoky effect. Henry pulls back once she's done the first, smirking, and pushes himself up onto his knees so that he can see inside of the vanity mirror.

"It looks weird," he mumbles, then squats down again. "Do the other?"

Smiling, Emma mirrors the design on the opposite eye, careful not to smudge it across his face. She dips her hands into the bowl of water once she's done, cleaning the charcoal off, and dries them on her thighs.

"Do I look like a pirate?" Henry asks, taking a piece of charcoal for himself and moving, already, towards the mirror.

"Draw on a beard," Emma tells him, smirking, from the floor. She picks up the bottle of 'perfume' that Henry's made, and pops the cork off to give it a smell. Her nose wrinkles at the odour, and she gladly corks it up again, wondering if Henry had picked from flowers that a cat had pissed on.

Henry returns from the mirror a moment later, wrinkling one eye shut and sneering. He's drawn on a kind of goatee-like beard that's all zigzags and smudges, and Emma laughs at him before he starts ambling towards her.

"Your turn," he grins, and takes a hold of Emma's face before she can move away. Her beard turns out worse than his, with three smudged finger prints on the side of her cheek, but Henry looks pleased enough with his efforts.

Frowning, Emma wrinkles her nose at the smell of the charcoal and asks, "What's all this in aid of? National Pirate Day?"

"Do they have that here?" Emma has to smirk at the look of pure amazement on his face, and is rewarded by a feeble thump to her shoulder.

"Hey, ow!"

"Don't get my hopes up like that." Henry pouts at her, but begins cleaning his hands off in the bowl. "I was just bored. Gramps says he doesn't want me riding horses because of the snow, and he's too busy to play with me."

"Don't you have stuff to study?"

Henry looks at her as though to ask, 'don't _you_ have stuff to study?' "I'm having a day off." He looks at her seriously for a moment, and adds, "And it's good to keep busy. It takes your mind off stuff."

"And what do you need to take your mind off of?"

"Who said _I _did?"

Emma gets it, then, the reason why he's been dragging her around all day, and then planned this 'surprise' for her. He's worried about her, or else she's just not hiding how much she doesn't fit in here well enough from him. Either way, Henry recognises the look on her face and rolls his lips together.

"I like it here, 'cause there's so much for me to do. I mean, I miss video games and potato chips a little, but here I have my own horse," he smiles encouragingly up at her. "We live in this massive Palace, and I get to learn about the centaurs and the unicorns, and ogres and dwarves. It's pretty cool here, if you just give it a chance."

Emma sighs a little and smiles at him. "I know."

"But you still don't like it that much?"

"I just…" Emma licks her lips and chews on the bottom one, thinking of an age-appropriate explanation to give. "I spent almost my whole life in that world, you know?" And when Henry gives her the 'so did I' look, continues, "I had a life outside of Storybrooke. It might have been… it was really unstable, kid, but that was life."

"And then I brought you home," Henry supplies, and Emma nods her head, smile faint. "But Storybrooke wasn't real, it was cursed. Everyone there was someone different to who they should've been."

"Not me. I never changed. I came to Storybrooke, I met my kid, I made a life for myself there."

"So did all of them," Henry mumbles. "And they're fine here, too."

Emma wants to question that, because she doesn't believe that everyone's okay with the sudden change from indoor plumbing to shitting down a hole in a bench. She's just waiting for the first major epidemic to break out, and for people to start hailing Storybrooke and modern day medicines. How can they all just come back to this so easily? Emma knows the answer, and sighs as she gives it Henry.

"They all had a life to come back to here, things to pick up where they'd left off. And you, Henry, you had your book. You knew about the fairytales and the magic, and you wanted to be a part of it."

Henry's face falls just slightly. "And you don't?"

Emma shrugs. "I don't know what I want." She sniffs a little and leans into him to give his shoulder a shake. He's looking so hopeless, she can't help but want to reassure him. "I just need to adjust to this place, you know? I need to settle in."

Henry looks doubtful at how easy she makes that sound, but nods his head in agreement. They sit together on the floor of her bedchamber for a long while after, just talking and knowing that soon they'll be called for dinner and will have to clean the muck from their faces. For now, though, they're just two pirates reflecting over a distant land their sails have long since drawn them from.

# # # #

Emma gives Regina a week with the spell books, hoping that, by the time she calls to collect them, Regina would have found a way to get herself out of the Kingdom, unharmed. She's gotten into the habit of slipping away after breakfast, lunch, and dinner to bring Regina something up to eat. The cook and the kitchen staff look at her oddly each time she arrives with a request for more, and she's noticed them eyeing her stomach (as though wondering where she's putting it all) more than once, but that's easy enough to ignore compared to the problem that's currently hiding away upstairs.

In the week that Regina has with the books, she studies them endlessly. Whenever Emma calls on her, she's bent over the table, its surface almost completely covered in the open books and stray leaves of paper, where Regina had copied down one passage or another. She doesn't talk much, and seems irritated by Emma's presence, so Emma doesn't stay long.

She's gotten so used to swerving by servants and sneaking down empty attic corridors, that Emma feels more like part of her parents' collection of servers than ever. If she goes to Regina's room during the day, the attics are mainly empty, and she doesn't have to sneak around too much that way. She isn't sure what Regina does with her nights, but if her tiredness around breakfast, when Emma appears with fruit and bread and, occasionally, something warm and porridge-like, is anything to go by, then Regina likely spends little time without one of the spell books beneath her nose.

When Emma next calls on Regina, it's mid-morning and the sun is shining in, strong, through the great east-facing window. The light fills the dreary space, leaving little room for any shadow, and Emma initially takes the room for being empty, and panics.

The bed is made so well it looks like it's been left untouched for days, and the mess of open books, that Emma's become accustomed to seeing sprawled across the small dining table, has been neatly returned to one single pile, all neatly stacked and ready to be taken away.

She places the breakfast plate in her hands down on the table, considering it's clear, and pokes about the room until she hears a noise from next door. "Regina?"

The shifting of water follows the noise, and then, "Through here, Ms. Swan." Realising what she's said, Regina quickly continues with, "_I'm bathing_."

Emma checks herself just before she lets herself in, her hand already settled on the handle. "Right… uh, I brought you up some food," she says through the door, being mindful of her volume. She's heard no rumours about ghosts in the attic moving among the servants, yet, but she wouldn't put it past Regina to rattle a few chains, just to get them going.

Inside the bathroom, Regina sinks slightly lower in her tub of hot water. She'd had to clean the bathtub twice before first using it, but now the claw-foot tub stands proudly in the centre of the room with gleaming porcelain. There's no indoor plumbing in this world, and she isn't quite willing to explain how she had had to pore over more than one spell inside the books Emma had brought to her in order to perfect her water-bringing magic, but it's paid off now.

The water is warm and scented with the soaps Emma had previously brought up to her. She lies in a kind of resolution, eyes closed against the sunbeams that come in through the closed window, and bounce off every tiled surface.

"That will be all," she calls out, and waits to hear the sound of the bedroom door closing. Only, it never comes.

"So, you're finished with the books, huh?" she hears through the door, and opens her eyes to peer around at where the sound is coming from, incredulous. Is Emma really doing this _now_?

"I believe I've just told you I'm bathing, Ms. Swan." On the other side of the door, she imagines she sees Emma's eyes roll. "We'll talk about this later."

Emma teeters back and forth from the ball to the heel of her boots. "Yeah," she says, paying little attention to Regina's words. "Do you want me to take them back, then?"

Regina sets her jaw, staring up at the ceiling with a deadpan expression. The one morning she decides she'll soak in the bath, instead of just simply sponging her body down, and this is where it gets her. She really couldn't have been accidentally transported inside anybody else's Palace, could she?

"Do what you wish with them."

Emma frowns at the door, then down at the books on the table. She presses a hand against the wood of the entrance, and almost rests her forehead against it as she calls through, "You're really done with them?" She adjusts her footing, licking her lips. "Have you—did you find anything? Useful, I mean. About how to get out of here."

Inside the bathroom, Regina sinks further beneath the water, bubbles briefly rising from her nostrils. She glares at the opposite wall, and only lifts her head to breathe, again, when Emma starts to repeat herself. "I found nothing, Ms. Swan. Those books are useless."

Emma drops her hand from the door and swallows. Useless? Great. There goes her hope of having Regina out of the Palace before Christmas. _Wait_, do they still get to celebrate that here…?

"I'll bring up more," she offers, turning to press her back against the door. She already knows what to expect, when Regina's answer comes.

"And they'll be useless, and the ones you find after those will be useless, and even the ones after those. Do you hear what I'm saying, Emma? There isn't a book in your library that can explain how my spell went wrong, because _it didn't_."

Emma's head thumps back against the door as she sighs. "I was worried you'd say that," she murmurs to herself, glancing towards the window when a passing cloud allows her to do so without blinding herself. There's silence on the other side of the door, and Emma contemplates simply leaving.

But before she can stop herself, she turns her cheek into the door and asks, "How did it happen, then?"

Regina takes her time with her reply, before finally admitting, "I don't know."

Emma nods her head and closes her eyes, letting that sink in. Regina – the most powerful witch Emma's ever known (okay, scratch that, the _only_ witch she's ever known) – has absolutely no idea what happened the night she transported inside a Palace that she isn't physically capable of transporting into.

"Can the wards around the Kingdom be down?" she asks, turning further into the door, now, with this new sense of hope.

"It's a possibility," Regina says, though Emma thinks she sounds kind of reluctant to accept the theory.

"Then how else do you explain it?"

"Explain what? My getting into the Palace unscathed, or my getting into the Palace at all?"

_Good point_, Emma thinks. "The first one. And the second. I mean—"

"I didn't cast a spell to bring me here, Emma. I had no intentions of doing so. It isn't _possible_ for the spell I used to have backfired so drastically…"

Emma closes her eyes again when the cloud cover shifts from the sky, and brilliant sunlight hits her face. She cringes away, staring incredulously at the bedroom door. If what Regina's saying is true, then there's only one more possibility, right?

"Then who brought you here? And, _why_?"

* * *

_A/N_: Yes, **why**? Does anyone have any theories yet?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter; I'd love to hear what you made of it. All feedback is hugely appreciated, as you know. Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N_: The Fourth Chapter, AKA: _We're Skipping over Christmas_. Because it's March, for god's sake. Some of you guys had such awesome theories for why Regina turned up at the Palace, I'm almost worried you're going to be disappointed when the truth is revealed. Hopefully not, but I'll admit that I'm nervous. ;)

The response to this fic is wonderful, and you're all so lovely. If I haven't been able to tell you this because you're reviewing on guest: thank you so much! It means a lot that I have your support. Anyway, enough rambling, I hope you enjoy this chapter. We're starting to move onto Bigger Issues now, and I hope I'm doing them all justice.

* * *

Christmas comes.

And, okay, so maybe it isn't Christmas like Emma knows it, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

One of the larger-than-ceiling-height conifer trees from the forest had been erected in the Palace gardens, and Snow had pulled a few strings with the fairies and had them help decorate it. The castle itself went unchanged, and Emma wasn't overly surprised to learn that they were one of the only households that was celebrating the Earthly holiday, but when she woke up to Henry jumping on her at the crack of dawn, and sipped hot cocoa with her family around a burning fire while he unwrapped his presents, she couldn't much care about that.

It still bothers her, though, even now, that there'd been someone missing from their Christmas morning.

Henry tries not to let it show as he wheels around on his wooden scooter, the wheels click-clacking as they hit every ridge in the Palace's tiled flooring. The snow is thickening already, and the sun's appearance through the thick, grey clouds overhead grows sparse. The entire Palace grows cooler and duller, lit only by burning candles and well-stocked fireplaces.

She doesn't see much of her parents, who are doing their best for the villagers. There's no shortage of firewood, what with the looming forest that curls around them, sheltering them from the worst of the wind that blows in a blizzard and covers the town in white. But the snow is a problem, one that Snow and David are doing their best to work around.

Emma is feeling pretty pleased with herself this morning, though. She'd been to see Regina, and they hadn't argued, which—okay, it was weird, and Emma is loath to admit that she misses the verbal sparring with the woman (because whenever it does happen, she remembers exactly why she wishes it wouldn't), but she feels strange around her, now.

It's like she and Regina have been dragged into some evil plot, and while her first thought goes straight out to Rumpelstiltskin, there's still a part of her that likes to rationalise that maybe a passing fairy just accidentally sneezed above the Palace and—

It's a long shot.

She'd given Regina the last of her Princess Dresses, though, and the clear-out of her wardrobe, at least, makes her feel like today has been partly productive. So she lies, with a somewhat guiltless conscience, on one of the chaise lounges in the library, a record book held up above her face. It dates back four hundred years, and states the name and details of every war that has ravaged the land they live on today. Vaguely, she wonders if it's disrespectful to read a book like this out of boredom, but the figures keep her mind off whatever brought Regina to her that night, and so she embraces the distraction as a welcome reprieve.

That is, however, until a pair of dark eyes come to hover over the edge of the book. Emma blinks, manages to flick a page without losing her place, and says, "You know what they said, kid, and what makes you think I'm gonna be of any use if something happens and you or your horse gets hurt?"

Henry scowls down at her and is, perhaps, a little rougher than he ought to be when he shoves her legs off the lounge, giving himself a space to sit. "I don't want to go riding," he says, as though it should be obvious. "And using the snow as an excuse not to ride is just dumb."

Emma awkwardly pulls herself up into a sitting position beside him and closes her book. The dust from it was making her sneeze, anyway. "Don't argue with the experts," is all she says, slouching down to his level.

Henry's bottom lip is puffing out slightly, and he looks like he's sulking, and like he did all those years ago, when Emma had held him for such a short moment that it's a wonder she can actually remember it.

"What's wrong?"

Sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, Henry turns to her with a small frown. "Can we go for a walk?"

"In the snow?" The thought alone sends a chill down Emma's spine.

"It stopped snowing after lunch. And I'm a kid, Emma," he says, eyes widening, "it's not healthy for me to be inside all day."

"I'll remind you of that when this world invents the equivalent of the Xbox." Henry's throws her a puppy-dog-level pleading look, and Emma lets her head hit the back of the lounge with a small groan. "Fine, we'll go for a walk. But you can't take your scooter; we won't get it through the snow."

Henry doesn't seem to care too much about that, though, and throws himself up, grinning. "I didn't say anything about my scooter," he sings, skipping out of the room.

Emma stalls for as long as she can, putting her book away and then trekking up to her bedchamber to pull on some warmer boots and a cloak. It comes to about shin-length on her, and is made of thick, grey fur, and while a part of her is uneasy about just what animal it is she's wearing (or how many), the cloak does as is intended. Besides, she feels as though she's walking around with her duvet wrapped around her, which is always enough to put her in a better mood.

Henry's waiting for her in the gardens when she comes downstairs, again, and it takes her a moment to find him, calling out his name, before she sees him packing a snowball into his gloved fists.

"If that thing comes anywhere near me, I'm going right back inside," she warns him, and Henry feigns hurt.

"What do you take me for?" he says, and Emma huffs out warm air, beginning to crunch through the snow. As soon as she's a few foot ahead of him, of course, the snowball makes feeble contact with her back. "I'm going to pretend that never happened. Now get your butt over here. Where are we walking to?"

"That way." Henry jogs up beside her, pointing out to where garden meets woods.

"The tree line?" Emma squints, but doesn't manage to force the distance to look any less. "That'll take us ages."

"It'll be a good walk," Henry counters, and slips an arm through hers.

That, at least, has her smiling, and she holds the link as they make their way out through the snow. Another few inches have fallen, and the brief slithers of sunlight are beginning to turn the top layers of it to ice. It makes a satisfying sound as they crunch out across it, and by the time they reach the treeline, Emma's no longer feeling the cold.

"So," she says, adjusting the cloak around her shoulders, "we're here." She's feeling sweaty and warm, but her nose hurts from cold, and while her body's so terribly confused, she can't help but wonder why Henry wanted to come out this far, anyway.

He seems distracted, now, twitchier, and Emma frowns slightly as she leans against a tree to catch her breath. "I just wanted to see the trees in the snow," he says, and takes a few steps further in, being mindful of where he puts his feet.

While he's still in her sight, Emma simply watches him. Her legs are aching and her toes have gone numb, but now that he's mentioned the trees and the snow, she can't help but take them in. She's never been much of an art enthusiast, but she can't deny the beauty in the landscape. Even in the midst of a harsh winter, the Forest looks enchanting. It's so white, here, and so, so quiet.

Emma had thought that she'd hate it, but she doesn't.

She lets her eyes close, only momentarily, because then there's a snapping of a twig and she startles up, again, to see that Henry is making progress. She thinks about calling after him, or just catching up, but then he stops. He has his back to her, but she sees him take something out of a pocket, and bend. Whatever it is, he leaves it behind a snow-smothered rock, and stands again.

That's when Emma diverts her gaze, turning back to look at the way they'd come. It looks even further away, from this side of the walk, and she sighs a little, her breath billowing out from her nostrils like smoke. Her eyes automatically lift to the top row of windows in the Palace, and while she knows Regina's room is on the eastern side, she can't help but think of her, alone up there. It makes her sick.

"We can go back now," comes from her side, suddenly, and Emma turns into the noise to find Henry with the hood of his cloak up over his head. She can barely see his face – his eyes obscured – and thinks she hears a sniffle come from somewhere inside the fur-lining. Whatever it was, Henry's obviously trying to hide it from her, so she slides an arm around his back and rubs gently, in a way that she's often had Snow do to her.

"Let's go, then."

# # # #

Emma returns to the attics once she's managed to rub some feeling back into her feet. She has a tray in her arms, and passes guards who look at her strangely with a defiant rise of her chin. "I like reading up here, it's quiet," she tells a guard named Devante who looks particularly confused, and speaks to no one else on her way to Regina's room.

Once she gets there, fumbling with doors, she knocks with her boot and blows her hair out of her face as she waits for an answer. She can tell that the whole 'being Queen' thing has gone straight to Regina's head, because she has Emma knocking another three times before she answers the door, as though she'd been expecting someone to get it for her. And, what with Emma's bad habit of letting herself in, uninvited, perhaps she isn't exactly leaping to conclusions.

"Hey, I brought your food," she says as soon as Regina opens the door.

She's wearing a pair of breeches, today, with a loose-fitting shirt tucked neatly inside them, and a pair of Emma's boots on her feet (only half a size too large). Regina eyes the tray despondently, frowns at the book and the cup of cocoa beside it, but the gesture lifts as soon as she settles on the dish covering her meal.

"I suppose you'd best come in, then," she drawls, stepping aside to allow Emma access.

"The book's my disguise," Emma says, making her way towards the table after kicking the door shut behind her. Regina just looks at her for a moment, before shifting to uncover the plate.

As she'd requested, there's a steaming pie underneath, filling her bedroom with the smell of home cooking. She inhales deeply, and bites the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. "Pheasant?" she asks, just to be sure.

"Saw them pluck the feathers from them myself," Emma says, and wishes she was kidding.

Regina takes her seat, bringing the plate before her, and lifts her cutlery, ready to attack. Emma's lurking presence stops her before she can even cut into the gravy-covered pastry, however, and she blinks up at her impatiently.

"Is there a reason why you're still here?"

Emma kicks the leg of the table with the toe of her boot, a little too hard, because it shakes the tray that's been left on top of it and makes it rattle, and she very nearly apologises verbally. Instead, she stuffs her hands inside her pockets and takes a step back. "I was, uhm, just wondering how you were doing." She nods to herself, as though to say, 'job well done,' and Regina has to repress an eye roll.

"How I'm doing?" she asks, and turns back to her food with a scoff. She cuts through the pastry and meat precisely, gravy spilling into the crack. "Need I remind you of our current situation?"

"No, no, I meant—" Emma sighs and glances around, taking in the room that is gradually beginning to feel more like a place that would welcome human habitation. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?"

That, at least, is enough to give Regina pause. "For what?" She lifts her eyes to Emma, and Emma isn't sure if there's a challenge there, or just pure indignation.

"I don't _pity_ you," Emma tries, the word dancing around her tongue like she's never used it before. "I just—I should speak to my parents." She turns around, facing the window, because it's easier to speak, apparently, when Regina isn't staring at her. It makes the guilt less suffocating. "You have as much right to Henry as I do," she says, and swallows hard. "And they don't get to choose who sees him. He's our son, not theirs."

Regina wants to agree, but holds her tongue, wanting to see how far Emma will take this.

"I shouldn't have let them exile you like that, I should have stood up to them, and I'm not offering excuses, okay?" She turns to Regina then, hands sliding out of her pockets and into a shrug. "I made a dick move and I'm sorry."

A moment passes in relative quiet, in which Regina lowers her cutlery to the table, and the fire burns up another log of wood. That's something they can agree on, at least, though Regina probably would have used a different term. She would have said it better, Emma thinks.

Without looking at her, Regina takes a breath and asks, "So what do you plan to do about it?"

Emma hesitates, having expected—well, an agreement, perhaps, or for one of those old, familiar fights of theirs to start up. Not Regina's quiet acceptance. She shifts from foot to foot, then offers, "I'll tell my parents."

Regina does look at her, then. Like she's an idiot.

"I'll tell them that I'm not okay with this—I'll tell them everything that I just told you, that you have a right to Henry, that he deserves to have you in his life, that they have absolutely _zero_ input on what happens to him." Regina's expression doesn't change, and Emma's turning desperate, she knows, but can't stop herself from pleading, "Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

"What if I want you to get me and Henry out of here? For him to come and live with me."

"Not that." Emma's voice has an edge to it, but she suspects Regina is simply testing her. "_Neither_ of us gets to take Henry away from the other, okay? But anything else, I mean, joint custardy doesn't sound too bad, and I'll stop them from doing anything to you."

Regina makes a noise that's half-amused, half-insulted, and Emma quickly corrects herself, rushing out, "Not that you need protecting, I know, I meant—I just meant that if they try to do some bullshit 'put her in the dungeons' thing, I'll stand against them."

"You'll be on my side," Regina says, and though it's not quite a question, Emma feels the need to answer.

"Yes."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Why?"

That's the part Emma was hoping to skip, but seeing how Regina's looking at her now, she doubts that if she lets the conversation stop here, it'll ever resume again where she wants it to. "Because you had Henry all his life. You're his mother, and no matter what you've done," and she cringes, slightly at the thought of it all, "he doesn't deserve to lose you. If I have the opportunity to stop a kid from being raised without loving parents, I'll take it."

Regina runs the tip of her tongue along the edge of her top row of teeth, and then turns back to her late lunch. She doesn't want the food to cool, of course, and so continues where she left off, cutting out a small segment and bringing it to her lips. But when she tries to swallow, it gets stuck in her throat. She isn't sure if the hot chocolate is for her, but she claims it, anyway, taking a small sip to wash down the pie. Afterwards, she clears her throat and tries to ignore the feeling of Emma's eyes boring into her skull.

"You don't have to tell your parents," she says, taking another sip of the hot chocolate. It's hot and sweet, and she can't detect any cinnamon, so perhaps Emma had intended it to be for her all along. Curious. "And by that, I mean don't."

Moving around to take the seat opposite Regina, Emma folds her hands together on top of the table and frowns at her. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said, dear." Regina cuts another piece of pie off, and waits while a drop of gravy leaves it before moving it to her mouth. Once she's swallowed it, she continues, meeting Emma's gaze, "I've come to enjoy the peace that comes with solitude, Ms. Swan, and I could really do without your mother storming up here every five minutes."

Emma detects the lie easily, and frowns. What does Regina have to hide?

Whatever it is, Emma's thoughts quickly leave it as soon as Regina says, "But I do want to see Henry."

At first, all she does is blink, and then, "O-of course, I mean, yeah, totally. That's why I brought this up." When Regina offers no method to their plan, she asks, "You want me to bring him to you?"

Regina's gaze drops to the pie in front of her, and she makes a show of cutting off another piece, stalling. It surprises Emma that she actually has to think about it. But, slowly, she nods. "That's right."

"Okay," Emma sighs, licking her lips. "When?"

Regina meets her gaze, then, holding back a sigh. Must she work all of this out herself? "Whenever you feel best," she says, irritated, but her voice softens when she adds, "Only… give me ample time…"

"To prepare?" Emma deadpans, and Regina's gaze hardens.

"He hasn't seen me in half a year," she says, and Emma's expression quickly drops. Sighing, Regina shakes her head and shifts her attention to her food. "Just let me know when you decide."

Emma gives a small nod of her head, vaguely wondering if Henry would be against the idea. She can't imagine he will. "You got it."

There's silence, then, but for the crackling of the fire, and even that sounds muted, like the flames are listening in. Regina releases a small breath and tightens her hold on her cutlery, but just when she thinks it's safe to resume her meal, Emma speaks.

"Have you come any closer to working out—that other problem?" It's frustrating, just thinking about it, so she's been trying not to, though now she wonders if she's left Regina with too much work to do alone. Not that Regina would admit to that, of course.

"No," is the answer, clear and simple.

Emma nods her head. "Right." She frowns down at her nail beds, hearing the sound of Regina cutting up her pie, the clank of metal on pot, and then chewing. There's the crunch of the pie crust, and then a quiet swallow. "What about getting another cat?"

Regina doesn't even grace her with a look. Seeing this, annoyance fills Emma's chest, and she tries, all the more determined, now, "Like Blacky—Tsuki, whatever it is. Can't you put your spirit thing inside something else and just…" She trails off when Regina starts giving her the _you're an idiot_ look. "What?"

"And go where, exactly? Back to my cottage? I'd have all of a few hours there, and then I'd have to make my way back. My body is here, this is where I will need to return to."

Emma drops back against the chair with a groan. "This is ridiculous." She closes her eyes and sighs. "I mean, who even wants you here? Who would possibly benefit from bringing you here?" She opens her eyes, then, and looks like she's about to add, 'no offence,' onto the end of that question.

"I'm as confused as you," though she seems loath to admit it, "but there's little point in getting so worked up."

"Right, right. Some weirdo's performing magical spells on you, no need to worry. I mean, whoever it was transported you to a nice, comfy bed, in a _Palace_ of all places, what's there to worry about?"

Regina doesn't appreciate the sarcasm, and so Emma resorts to simply frowning at her food. She'd eaten only an hour or two earlier, but just looking at the steam rising from the pie makes her hungry. God, the kitchen staff are going to think she's eating for two…

"We'll figure it out," Regina says, voice just slightly strained, so that that's what Emma picks up on, instead of the fact that she had so easily banded them together in this.

"Henry's the priority," she mumbles back, and straightens in her seat.

"Indeed."

Regina meets her eyes. She isn't sure what makes her lock her gaze with Emma's, can't tell if she's angry or thankful, but this feels a lot like level ground, and, for once, she's kind of relieved by that. There's still something, though, a niggling in the back of her mind, a spasm in her tongue. Emma notices it by the frown on her face, and straightens in preparation.

"What made you change your mind?" Regina asks, slowly, like she isn't expecting an answer. Or isn't sure if she wants one.

Emma holds her gaze for a few seconds longer and then drops it, shrugging. "I don't know. I guess I always knew that this was wrong, but it was… it was easier to just ignore it." She looks up into Regina's face, cringing. "I'm sorry. I should have said something from the start, I was just—so _angry_ with you."

Regina stresses her jaw, nodding. She'd expected that, she supposes.

"I feel like I've just been dreaming through my time here, like none of it felt like it was actually happening until you—" Emma stops, licks her lips, and says instead, "I'll speak with the kid. Just give me some time to work out how to do it, yeah?"

"Very well."

"I suppose I should be getting back, then."

Regina nods, returning her gaze to her plate. She tries not to notice how her heart sinks at the idea, and yet still manages to excel its beats at the promise of seeing her son. "I suppose so."

Later, after Emma has left and half of Regina's pheasant pie sits cooling on the table, Regina lingers by the closed door, frowning. There's a strange lightness to her chest, a feeling that she's learned never to trust.

The thing about hope, she supposes, is that as soon as you have it, it is impossible to shake.

* * *

_A/N:_ I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter. Any guesses on what Henry's up to? ;)

Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N_: Hello everyone, I have a little bad news. I'm not sure when I'll be able to get the next chapter up. I'll try to have it ready for next Tuesday/Wednesday, but I have a big piece of work due to be handed in in less than a week, and another six pieces to be working on straight after that. I'm really quite overwhelmed with work and stress, but this fic is like a little reprieve every time I'm writing for it, so I'll try to find the time to work it into my schedule.

As always, though, your response to this fic is feeding my motivation to write. You're all wonderful, and I'm so grateful for all of your reviews and favourites and follows. If you're enjoying reading this, I'm enjoying writing it.

Anyway, before I get mushy: here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

So, Regina can _actually_ turn invisible. Who'd have thought that?

Emma stares at her – or, rather, where Regina was standing just seconds prior – with a curious, slightly unnerved expression. She reaches her hand out, and hears a soft snicker from just ahead before something warm and soft steps into the way of her touch. She pulls her hand back with a low '_ooooh_,' and shakes her head.

"That's weird."

Unseen, Regina arches an eyebrow. "You'll get used to it, dear."

Emma wants to disagree, but then she's left with the thought that she's so used to just staring, unblinking, at Regina, that not having her in sight now is… well, it's a stark contrast. She blinks her eyes and looks around the attic bedroom, from the table to the bed. She can hear Regina moving around, but she can't quite make sense of just which direction she's going in. Then, all of a sudden, the footsteps stop.

"Are you still here?"

"Right here," comes the faint reply, just beside her ear. Emma tries not to react to it past her initial jerk of surprise. "I've changed my shoes – a pair of your boots, if you would like to know."

Emma doesn't turn into her – doesn't want to imagine just how close they are standing, without her being overly aware of it. "They'll hear you coming down the stairs in them," she offers, eyes focused intently on the faded magnolia wall behind the bed's headboard.

"What were you expecting me to wear on this little adventure – my glass slippers? I know we're a great height away from the gardens from here, but that white stuff covering the ground looks a lot like snow to me." Emma can practically hear the eye-roll in her voice. "Besides, I can silence my footfalls."

Emma almost snorts, then thinks better of it. She isn't sure if Regina is watching her or not. "Let's go then," she says, and heaves a sigh.

She doesn't hear Regina following her, but the bedroom door gets pulled closed behind her once she exits, and each and every other door after that. She tries to take deep, calming breaths as she leads the way down the servants' corridor and stairs, and just pokes her head out at the end.

The guard there – a tall man with thickset shoulders and rich, brown skin – stares at her for a moment, frowning, until he realises whose head it is that is peaking out at him. Devante has learned to expect the eccentricities of the Princess. She's not like her parents, in the way that she tries to engage him in conversation whenever they both seem to have a little free time.

She's not one for sharing, he's found, but has listened intently to what he's had to tell her about his life; his wife, Maya, and their three beautiful daughters, Joana, Hazel, and Esther. She asks after them every few days, and he relates Esther's first step, and how he'd almost missed it, and the way the older two have been teaching her to talk.

She insists that he call her Emma, and, in private, he does. Now, however, she doesn't much look like she wishes to talk. Devante manages to withhold his smile as Emma walks past him, nodding in greeting, and casting glances behind her after every three or four steps.

He follows the direction of her gaze, but sees only the hallway behind her, empty but for the faces in the paintings.

# # # #

Henry clears himself a seat on a low, stone wall in the garden as he waits for his mother to arrive. She'd wanted to go for a walk again, and he's been suspicious ever since she asked him to join her. Having pushed over a foot of snow off the wall, he fits himself into the space and kicks his feet back against it.

He's contemplating Emma's motives for wanting to come out here – because she doesn't agree with the cold, or walking in it – when he sights her coming into view in the doorway. He lifts his arm in a wave, but just as he pushes himself up from the wall, Emma trips. She manages to right herself before she face-plants the stone floor, and then just angrily turns around, her arms flapping as she talks.

Henry's frown deepens, and he hurries to meet her inside.

"...careful what you're doing, for Christ's sake, I would've broken my nose if I'd have fallen on here!" she's hissing, and stops only when he clears his throat. Emma turns around, her smile looking strained. "Hey, kid," she tries to make it sound joyful, casual, but Henry's frown isn't budging, "you ready to go?"

"Who were you talking to?"

Emma doesn't even think about it.

"My feet."

"Uh…"

"C'mon, let's go before it gets too cold."

"…okay."

They end up trekking through the snow, again. More has fallen since Emma was last out here with Henry, but she can still just about make out their footprints, and they follow them like a footpath towards the border of the forest. Every now and then, she turns around and sees the footprints she's already left being filled again, where Regina is being careful not to leave a trace of herself.

It's not for Henry's benefit, really, but anyone else who comes out here and questions the non-existent body in their trio. Emma has been explaining away a lot of her strange behaviours recently, but even she doubts she'll manage to convince anyone that she has an extra two legs.

Then again, in a land like this, she can't help but wonder…

Finally, the forest stretches itself out before them, looking not like a great body of frosted wood, but a colony of individual trees. They walk through the first few layers of it, where there's slightly less snow on the ground, and so it's easier to move, and then stop.

Henry pulls his cloak tighter to his chest and peers up at her, smiling expectantly. When Emma only wets her chapped lips and glances behind her, the expression dissolves into a frown.

"What is it?"

Emma spins around at the noise, making a soft '_mm?_' sound.

"Well, why'd you bring me out here? You hate the snow, and walking…"

Blood rushes to Emma's cheeks, and she looks around again, clearing her throat. "What are you talking about? I always walk; I love exercising."

"Mm, you don't walk if you can help it, and not outside. The cold makes your feet ache."

"Kid." She's wincing and embarrassed, and Henry isn't entirely sure why, so he just frowns up at her, pouting.

"Whatever," he croaks. "So, what is it?"

"Right, the thing I wanted to talk to you about," Emma says, like she's talking herself through this. She lets out a long breath, and sees it cloud in the air before disappearing. "Okay… uh, see, Henry, the thing is…"

She stops there, and Henry blinks up at her. "Yeah…?"

"The thing is," she starts again, and Henry's face is so pale against the snow, and his expression so earnest. She realises, now more than ever, how badly her decisions have been lately. But there's no running from them, no. She'd hidden from all of this – lived through the past few months here like she was living in a dream; floating through, following her parents, applying as little thought as possible to anything that seemed morally ambiguous – but it's all caught up with her.

This isn't like running from the foster parents, the bad boyfriends, the bad _girlfriends_. There's not a place on any map that her own decisions don't know about – not a plane they can't board, or a magical realm they can't follow her to.

She swallows thickly against the cloak that keeps her neck warm, and feels a brief sweat break out at the back of it. The material starts itching, and her face feels numb and non-existent. She wishes Regina would suddenly extend her invisibility-spell to cover her, too, but then she closes her eyes against that thought. The longer she waits, the worse this will be.

_Like a Band-Aid_, she tells herself. _Rip it off as quickly as you can._

"Henry… there's something I haven't told you."

Henry's head tilts to one side, not understanding. It sounds like something serious, that much he's gathered, and can't quite fathom: 1. why Emma would need to hide anything from him in the first place, and 2. what could be so awful as to cause the guilty look on her face.

"What?"

Emma wets her lips again, her forehead creased. "Henry… I've been seeing your mom."

Henry's expression pauses, freezes with the snow. A number of things run through his mind, and then he offers a small, quiet, "Oh."

It doesn't look like he's registered anything, and Emma tries to take a step towards him, but only manages to shuffle briefly through the snow. "For a few months, now. I've seen where she's been living, I went there, and we've… we've talked, and she's been here… you see, Henry, the thing is—"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because—" Emma tries, but Henry's found his voice, now, and his expression is changing, aging. He's frowning up at her and it looks like he might be shaking. Emma feels the sting of tears in her own eyes, just as she sees them in his.

"_Why_? You hated her when she stopped me from seeing you! _I_ hated her because she did it. But she's my _mom_, Emma."

"Henry…"

She takes a step towards him, and he takes a step back.

"No! You should've told me, it isn't fair! You don't get to see her without me, she is _my_ mom!" He even stomps his foot, and Emma feels her throat close around her voice. She wants to explain the situation to him, make him understand what kind of position she'd been put in, but all she can get out is an unintelligible stutter.

Henry's chest is heaving, his shoulders shuddering with the effort he puts into trying to stop his tears. The cold has made the tip of his nose red, and the crying has spread the pattern to his cheeks, against which even his tears feel too hot. And Emma's been expecting this – oh, she'd expected this since she first showed up at Storybrooke, before that, even, since Henry appeared on her doorstep and announced himself back into her life.

His _disappointment_ in her.

"Henry," she tries, again, voice croaky and tight, but then there's someone else there with them.

Regina has dropped her invisibility spell and steps towards Henry, now, saying his name. Her voice is warm and rich and welcome, with a hitch that lets Emma know that she's crying before she even looks across at her. Regina won't meet her gaze – she has eyes only for Henry – and Emma feels her stomach clench when she begins to open out her arms, looking both hopeful and afraid. Emma wants to run into them herself, and even takes a step towards her, but then Henry is filling the space himself, like he was always meant to.

"Henry, Henry, Henry…"

It falls like a mantra from her lips, and Emma isn't sure if Regina's even aware that she's saying it, whispering the words into his hair.

He's so much taller, now, Regina thinks, no longer clinging to her legs, or her waist. His grip is stronger, whether through growth or desperation, and she grips him back almost as tightly, breathing him in. He still smells like her Henry, with the scent he'd brought with him into the adoption agency's office.

Once the initial greeting is over, Henry pulls back. The tears remain in his eyes, but now they shimmer through his own confusion. "How did you get here?" he sniffs, continuing before Regina has a chance to answer the first question. "They put up a magical barrier so that you couldn't get through. Did you break it?"

Regina winces at the way he looks at her, that quiet uncertainty, and shakes her head. "No."

"Emma went to see you." He doesn't spare Emma a look, and she feels like she thinks Regina must have done, when she'd first turned up in Storybrooke. "Did you write to her?" Again, the desperation, the anger. The _you're my mom, why didn't you write to me first?_

"Henry." _Slow down_. "Yes, Emma came, but that was after I'd started coming here."

Henry's bottom lip wobbles. "You've been coming here this whole time? And you didn't even try to see me?"

"Oh, Henry. I did." He's so confused, and she can't help but just cup his cheeks and smile down at him. Her little boy, so grown up. "And you saw me too."

"What…?"

"She was the cat."

They both turn to Emma, then, and she realises that she's said it out loud. It wasn't that she wasn't enjoying their moment together, but her mouth has a tendency to just throw words out, regardless of whether or not it's the appropriate time. Henry's frown deepens, but for another reason than his betrayal.

"You were… Blacky?"

He looks horrified, for a moment, and Regina understands why. She nods her head, and watches as Henry looks away, to the snow-covered ground. His breath puffs out of him, misting the air in front of his face and offering a slight seclusion. Regina leaves him to his thoughts, and then lays her hands on his shoulders.

"Henry, I'm sorry."

He doesn't lift his head, but mutters, "I know." A quiet sniff, the tears clear. "Me too."

He's not quite over the fact that his mother is the _Evil Queen_, but absence can distort your feelings, and while he's certainly not okay with what she has done in the past, she's still his mom. And she's here, finally, like she should be.

"Were you always Blacky?" he asks quietly, and peers up at his mother with uncertain mortification. He's said things to that cat – private things, things that he wouldn't even say to Emma – and all this time it had been _his mom_ that he'd been saying them to.

Regina confirms his fears, nodding her head, and squeezes her hands gently around his shoulders – a silent reassurance.

"So," Henry begins, his mind taking hold of a new tandem, a new series of questions, "why are you here now? I mean, how are you here now? The barrier…"

"We don't know, Henry." Emma, again. This time, she takes a step towards them, feeling less like a third wheel and more like a part of their trio. Henry no longer frowns at her, and even Regina looks too content to say a bad word against her. Well then, she thinks, she'll take full advantage of this, if she can. "Your mom kind of… appeared one day."

"Appeared?"

"Yeah… just kinda… was there." She brings her hands out, demonstrating a little 'poof'. "Like magic."

"Did you do something to get in here?" Henry asks, looking both dubious and appraising as he turns to Regina.

"I didn't." She isn't sure if he believes her. "I've been trying to figure out what happened, Henry, but it's proving more difficult than I'd imagined."

"Wait, you mean someone magicked you into the Palace? Why?" He scrunches his face up, shaking his head, then answers himself. "Maybe someone's plotting something bad! We need to tell gran and gramps!"

"Ah, Henry, I don't think that's best."

When Henry's expression turns suspicious, Emma adds, "She's right, kid. Snow and David just… well, they're not exactly your mom's best friends right now, you know? We don't want—anything to happen."

_To her_, Henry hears. _To them_, Emma silently adds.

"We need you to keep this quiet, Henry. A secret." Regina bends to his level, communicating just how important this is. She has Henry's full, wide-eyed attention now, and he takes hold of her wrists as she presses her palms to his cheeks again. "If somebody is up to no good, I will figure out why—"

"You won't hurt them?" He's not forgotten the painted depictions inside his book. "You won't…" He imagines her hand filled with a pulsating heart, and blanches.

"If they're plotting something—"

"No, no more killing, no more _hearts_…" He looks so desperately hopeless, Regina can't help but agree.

"None of that. I promise I won't let that happen. But if they endanger your safety here at the Palace, I will stop them."

Henry frowns, trying to make sense of her words in a way that doesn't make his stomach upset. "You'll… just protect us all. Without killing."

"Of course."

He seems fine with that, at least, and Regina takes in a deep, shaking breath and drops her hold of his cheeks, righting herself. And just what kind of mother has she become, she wonders, to make her eleven year old son force her into a promise not to murder?

Sensing the sickness in the atmosphere, Emma tries to do her best to abate it. "Maybe we should go inside, and you two can… talk, or something." She even tries a smile. "You've got a lot of catching up to do."

Regina meets her eyes, cool and dark, but a vibrant contrast to the snow that surrounds them. "Yes, we have."

It's Henry who breaks that gaze, taking a step away from them both and saying, "Wait, I have something for you… it's – it's a present." He clambers through the snow, snapping icy, fallen twigs, and to the rock that Emma remembers his bending behind, all those days ago. "I meant to give it to you, but…"

They all know why, and Henry feels no need to remind them. He stoops, grasps around in the snow, and then returns with a clump of paper and a frozen vial. Regina looks at him curiously, but she is smiling, and that is enough. She smiles even when he drops a piece of frozen card in her hands, and the vial that she now recognises as a tube of frozen lipgloss.

"I, uh, got that from Snow," he says carefully, as though expecting his mother to hate it, now. "It's for your lips. It helps them not go dry and cracked when it's cold."

Regina's smile quirks wider. "I know, dear. Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you."

She wants to tell him that he she hopes he had permission to take it, and perhaps if he had stolen it from anyone else other than Snow White she would have, but she's too happy to endanger the peace between them now with something like that.

"This is my card… but it's…" He takes it from her hand and shakes off the snow, but when he manages to pry the folded thick piece of paper open, he sees that his colours have ran. The snow has bled into his Christmas tree and his presents; Santa Clause is one with his sack, and the reindeer look like something the Sci-Fi channel might spew out.

Henry's face drops, and he can't help but whine, "It's ruined."

Regina takes the card from him, turning it over in her hands. Its icy pages begin to melt against her fingers as she scans the ruined drawings, and the message he'd written in – all now a blur. Her fingers clutch at it so tightly, small creases form around the pressure of them, and her hands slightly tremble – a barely perceptible movement that Emma Swan, at least, manages to perceive – as she closes the card again.

"It's wonderful, Henry."

"I ruined it," he shrugs, but Regina only shakes her head and reaffirms,

"It's _wonderful_."

# # # #

Devante is at his usual post, still.

Much has gone unchanged in the hour since he'd last seen Princess Emma exit the servant's stairs. He'd spoken to his wife about that – questioned her on what she supposes the Princess seeks up there. Maya had not had to think hard before reminding him how those who find themselves an outcast in their societies will find an alternative route elsewhere.

Personally, Devante had imagined she'd kept some injured animal up there, unbeknownst to her parents. He remembers Hazel feeding her leftovers to a squirrel in secret, and how the rodent had proceeded to bury its way into their attic and birthed its young there.

The children had adored it, of course, but he still gets nightmares of their incessant scratching through the walls.

Minutes pass, his work goes unchanged, and then the Princess arrives again.

She is not alone, but has her young son (Devante wants to say he's Joana's age, but isn't sure) by her side. Emma smiles to him when he passes, but there's something strained about her expression that sets him on edge. He bows his head, respectful, and his gaze falls in line with the boy's hand.

There's something unusual about the way he holds it, like it's curled around some non-existent bar – holding on for life. His fingers squeeze around it tightly, bringing a hint of redness to the skin around them, but there is certainly nothing that befits Devante's gaze within his hand.

Curious, the guard thinks to himself, and slowly allows his superstition to melt away.

Joana had outgrown _her_ 'imaginary friend' phase by the time she'd reached her seventh year.

* * *

_A/N_: As always, feedback is hugely appreciated. I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter – did it live up to expectations…? I'm sorry again about the possible delay for the next chapter; I'll try not to keep you waiting for long, but my school work takes full priority here (unfortunately).


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